


Oh so crowned

by Kaiidth



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Flower Crowns, Fluff, Fíli and Kíli are adorable, Humor, M/M, Thorin is too amused
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-03 02:11:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2834363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaiidth/pseuds/Kaiidth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <cite>"Un—Uncle?" Kíli stammers. "You have . . . flowers . . . in your hair."</cite>
  </p>
</blockquote>Hobbits have a special birthday tradition and when the dwarves learn of it, they decide to honour it for their Burglar.
            </blockquote>





	Oh so crowned

**Author's Note:**

> I know Bilbo's birthday was on September 22, just when they reached Lake Town, but for the sake of this fic let's pretend it was on July 14, when at Beorn's.
> 
> (I needed fluff after all that BotFA feels ok don't judge me)

"What's the matter, dear Burglar?" Thorin says the title with kind humour as he approaches Bilbo sitting at the bench.

Bilbo jerks, startled, and his distant gaze focuses on the dwarf. "Nothing, nothing," he denies too quickly, and Thorin thinks perhaps it is not in him to pull the hobbit from his withdrawn mood. Perhaps he should have send Bofur instead.

But he's not discouraged, he sits down, leaving just a small distance between their bodies and looks on Bilbo intensely.

The hobbit fidgets under his stare, playing with a small acorn in his hand, but after a few moments he sighs, almost inaudibly, and looks at Thorin with that strange melancholy. "Just thinking of home."

"Ah," he nods, not knowing what else to say.

But Bilbo continues without prompting: "There would have been a party in Hobbiton today, and folk from all over the Shire would be invited. And they would laugh and sing and dance, and eat! Ah, it would have been splendid."

Thorin watches the profile of the hobbits face as he speaks, marvelling at the soft brown curls and the outline of his nose and lips, and the eyes gazing wistfully into the west. He tears his gaze forcibly away, when his thoughts begin to turn into other directions.

"Is it not, then? The party?" he asks, eyes set upon the Misty Mountains in the distance.

Bilbo laughs and Thorin's eyes slip. 

"No," he says, shaking his head. "No, because I'm here."

Thorin frowns in confusion, and Bilbo explains: "It's my birthday."

" . . . What?" Thorin's eyes go wide and Bilbo shrinks a bit.

"I—"

"Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"Well, it's not that important," Bilbo rises his hands in defence and Thorin wants to shake the hobbit, because nothing about him isn't important.

"It is," Thorin says seriously and Bilbo's eyes flicker to his. "You're part of the company. Remember when Glóin had birthday? And Ori?"

"Yes, well," Bilbo stumbles over his words, red staining his cheeks a bit, and too late Thorin realizes bringing up Ori's birthday wasn't the best idea, considering what Dwalin 'gave' him as a gift.

"What I mean, is that we celebrated them,"—and oh Mahal, don't think about how Ori celebrated his—"and so we should yours. And you should have told us, because now we have nothing to give you, and you deserve"—sapphires as blue as the sky and emeralds green as your eyes and rubies and gold and silver and diamonds from beneath the roots of the Mountain— ". . . gifts."

"O," Bilbo smiles, "we celebrate birthdays quite differently in the Shire. You don't need to worry about gifts. By all rights it should be me worrying as Hobbits give gifts at their birthdays, not receive."

Thorin blinks in surprise. "You give gifts at your own birthday?" 

"Yes, that way you have a fair chance of at least one present a week, as someone is to bound have birthday. It's quite practical." He squints at the dwarf. "I see you think it weird, but for me, your customs are alien."

"No, no," Thorin shakes his head hastily, once the surprise passes," I don't think it weird, it's . . . nice. Very hobbit-like." And he actually smiles at that, because he can totally imagine that little folk running around at their own birthday, with wide smiles, pressing gifts into everyone's hands.

Bilbo glares at him suspiciously for a moment, but then believes him and shrugs. "Well, you see, there's no need for anyone to feel bad about the gifts as I don't except them from you, and you don't from me."

Thorin watches as the hobbit's gaze lingers on the Misty Mountains again, and knows the gifts aren't a problem here, that this is the longing they all know, the longing for home. Bilbo's eyes slide toward Thorin's for a fraction of second and then he looks away, to watch the giant bees flying over the flowers.

"Is there anything else with what hobbits celebrate the day of their birth?"

At that Bilbo laughs unexpectedly, tilting his head backwards, and it brings smile to Thorin's lips even when he has the feeling he's being laughed upon.

"Well? Is there?" Thorin inquire with a supressed smile.

Bilbo chuckles some more but, "yes, as a matter of fact, there is another tradition," he says.

"Yes?" Thorin leans closer, swearing silently to himself he will do this for his hobbit, if it's in his power. "What is it?"

One corner of Bilbo's mouth twitches, but he looks at the dwarf all seriousness. "At one's birthday, all of his kin and kith wears flowers in their hair. Flower crowns, to be precise." 

Thorin's eyes widen a fraction—because flower crowns—but he nods, solemnly.

Bilbo's eyes are full of mirth as he continues, matter-of-factly: "It's quite rude in our culture, not to do it, in fact."

Thorin inclines his head, "Of course."

And Bilbo is nearly shaking with laughter as he excuses himself to go grab some food, into Beorn's kitchen.

Thorin smiles to himself.

~

He knows little about flowers, but picks up those looking most beautiful to him, blue and white and some pale pink and makes the crown as best as he can. It doesn't look the best, but at least it holds together.

~

He marches into Beorn's hall with head up, as if he was wearing all the gold of Erebor and had the Arkenstone itself set in his crown.

Bilbo isn't there, but all of his company is.

Such silence falls, that pin dropping on the ground would have been heard from mile away, and the dwarves all freeze, gaping at him. When Thorin sees the wide eyes of his nephews he nearly laughs.

"Un—Uncle?" Kíli stammers. "You have . . . flowers . . . in your hair."

"Yes, Kíli, thank you, I'm well aware."

"Why do you have flowers in your hair?" Fíli amends his brother.

They are all looking at him, Dwalin slightly horrified and some as if he's gone mad, and he thinks it's perhaps best to explain.

"Well, I've learned recently, our Burglar celebrates the day of his birth today—"

"What?"

"It's Bilbo's birthday?"

"We have nothing for him!" 

"Why didn't he tell us?"

"—AND," Thorin roars and they fall silent again, "also that hobbits celebrate birthdays quite differently from us. You needn't worry about gifts as he expects none from us, hobbits don't receive gifts at their birthdays."

They murmur and look surprised and he feels awfully good knowing it all already.

"That's all very nice," Dwalin mutters, "but it doesn't explain you wearing weed on your head."

Thorin glowers at the warrior, and continues, maybe exaggerating a little what he learned from Bilbo.

"I'm wearing a flower crown"—and Kíli and Fíli, those little bastards, snicker at this—"because it's a tradition amongst Hobbits to do so, at one's birthday. It is considered very rude and offensive when someone does it not, and a gesture of bad will."

Silence falls once again and his companions look at each other, worried. 

"I don't want Master Baggins thinking I wish him ill," Ori breaks it, with tiny voice and agreeing murmurs echo through the hall.

Fíli and Kíli are the first to jump to their feet. 

"Let's go make flower crowns!" 

"Aye, we must hurry, before Bilbo finishes his afternoon tea!"

"Come on!"

And Thorin keeps his expression neutral, but inside he's nearly dying from laugher as he sees his whole company, even old Balin, hurrying to the garden as if a dragon was at their feet and Ori dragging grumbling and scowling Dwalin behind him, with strength he would never expect from the scribe. Or perhaps Dwalin is not protesting as much as he wants to appear to be.

~

Fíli and Kíli finish their crowns first and they are surprisingly neatly done. They put them atop of their heads and laugh at each other and then they agree they find each other's better, so they exchange them. That which Kíli made, and is now resting on Fíli's blond hair, is more reddish—orange, red and rosy with a few pale flowers woven together—and that resting on Kíli's brown hair is more colourful—blue and yellow mainly, with spots of pink and red and while.

Balin is carefully adjusting his own—red and yellow—on the top of his head and others are finishing as well, and are all trying to secure them in their hair. Nori in particular, has a bit of a problem and keeps cursing, until Dori punches him.

As Thorin looks at his company, all crowned with flowers, he knows, were he alone, he would by howling with laugher. Respectable Glóin with tiny white flowers amongst his fiery hair, and Balin taking it all serious is just too amusing. But on the other hand, it warms something in his heart, that they all came to care for Bilbo so deeply, to do such ridiculousness for him.

As he catches sight of Dwalin, however, he cannot contain his laugher anymore and bursts out in the most unkingly manner.

Atop of the warrior half-bald head rests a delicate ring of pale pink flowers contrasting with his personality and the fierce glare, like fire with water. And Thorin catches himself and stops laughing almost immediately, but the damage was done and the dwarf's glare is already burning a hole through him.

Dwalin looks like he'll throw himself at Thorin any second, but then Ori whispers something in his ear and he stops frowning immediately, and Thorin would swear he blushes a little. 

And then he smiles sweetly at him—as much as Dwalin can smile sweetly, which is more frightening than sweet, really—and says "Look at yourself, Princess."

And Thorin laughs again, before he can realize he is laughing at himself, and then his treacherous nephews join in and suddenly the whole company is laughing, and not only at Thorin anymore, but at each other as well.

And that, precisely, is the moment when Bilbo chooses to emerge from behind a bush, stopping dead in his tracks.

Thorin is the first to notice him and sends him a wide smile. The hobbit continues to gape. One by one the dwarves catch sight of him and fall silent, standing smiling and proud in front of him, with freshly made decorations on their heads.

Then Bilbo starts to laugh. Loudly, seemingly unable to stop, with tears of mirth streaming down his cheeks.

The company send each other confused looks, which only makes them see each other's hair and start snickering again, and of course understand why Bilbo is laughing so much.

The poor hobbit, meanwhile, has to sit down and Thorin falls down on the ground next to him.

"Are you aware," Bilbo says once he get the wild laughter under control, "that I was joking with the crowns? I wouldn't really think you rude. It's a hobbit tradition"—he chuckles—"you're dwarves."

"I am aware, I know when you're mocking me, little one," Thorin laughs and Bilbo blushes.

"You didn't think I'd do it," the dwarf states.

"No," Bilbo says honestly. "But I wanted to see what you'd look with flowers in your hair, and—" he cuts himself off, coughs, blushes adorably and changes the subject most obviously "—But how on earth, did you get Dwalin to wear it?"

"Well." It's time for Thorin to cough awkwardly, "They all might be under the impression it would be terribly offensive to you, if they didn't wear them."

Bilbo shakes his head and laughs and Thorin can't stop the smile curling his lips upwards.

Then one by one the members of company approach the hobbit, all beaming (including Dwalin, to Thorin's utter bewilderment, until he sees Ori smiling slyly in the background) and wish him happy birthday. The hobbit smiles back and compliments every single crown and sends Thorin sideway glances now and then, full of mirth.

~

At last, the only ones that remain in the garden with them are Fíli and Kíli, but they soon walk out of sight, going Mahal-knows-where, to do Mahal-knows-what. 

Thorin is left with Bilbo and the bees and a satisfying feeling that he succeeded in lightening his Burglar's mood. They sit on the ground, not talking, just sharing the comfortable silence, as they watch the sun edging toward the peaks of the Misty Mountains.

Suddenly the hobbit gets up and in a moment Thorin feels gentle fingers in his hair and he has to bite his lip, to keep himself from gasping.

"It's coming undone," Bilbo explains and Thorin makes a humming sound and closes his eyes to enjoy the sensation of the soft fingers brushing against his head, while working on the crown.

The fingers leave his hair and the only thing that keeps him from making a displeased soun, is that Bilbo sits down again, closer than before, almost leaning against his side.

And they are back to watching the sun setting down, colouring the sky orange and red.

"It's beautiful," Bilbo says after a while and Thorin makes an agreeing sound, but when he looks at the hobbit, he is not watching the sunset. He's watching Thorin and a small smile is creeping on his lips.

"I meant the flower crown."

"Oh." It's really not, Thorin thinks, but Bilbo keeps looking at him with reverie and that smile and so he does the first thing that comes to his mind.

He reaches for the crown atop his head, gently extricating it from his hair and offers it to the hobbit. Bilbo looks at him with wide eyes and mouth slightly open and something flickers in his eyes, but Thorin doesn't quite understand it. He holds the crown in his hands and Bilbo keeps staring at it in awe and then at the dwarf and he wonders if it was a bad move.

"Can I?" he asks, oddly self-conscious, gesturing at Bilbo's head.

Bilbo blinks, staying silent for a fraction of second, but then he smiles a small, genuine smile, lightening his whole face, and "yes," he says.

Thorin places the flowers amid the brown curls and if he strokes his fingers through the locks, a bit more than necessary, when retreating his hand, it is absolutely no-one's business. And the beauty of the setting sun cannot be compared to the beauty of this child of the kindly west sitting beside him with warm eyes and gentle smile. 

"Thank you," Bilbo whispers and leans against the dwarf's side and Thorin's heart nearly bursts out from his chest.

~end~

**Author's Note:**

> So in my head, Thorin's crown was mainly forget-me-nots and daisies and that's why Bilbo kept staring at it so much, because in the flower language:
> 
> Daisy = purity, loyal love, beauty,  
> Forget-me-not = true love


End file.
